


Graveyard

by Anosrepasi



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Character Study, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Minor Character Death, Witness Protection Gone Wrong
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-06 12:18:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6753502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anosrepasi/pseuds/Anosrepasi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her life at Sanctuary Hills might be nice, but it's just a desperate act. "Nora" wants nothing more than for the day she can stop pretending to be a suburban house wife and start her new life with the man she is supposed to be with, not the man assigned to keep her identity safe.</p><p>Skip 200 years into the future and Jenny no longer bothers to keep up false pretenses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hey Valentine

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, I've had a super busy April and ended up with bronchitis these last two weeks so I've been a little out of it. I'm feeling a bit better and this story has been dogging me for a few days now so considerate it another new fic.
> 
> Title came from Graveyard by Feist. (which is a great song and was all I listened to writing this.)

She knows it’s him the moment she sees the tacky neon signs outside the- _his-_ office in Diamond City. She knows the moment the woman- _and god her stomach flips as the brunette stands there, clutching a tie in her hands like a lifeline-_ said, “That’s Nick, he just smiled like he always does and ran off.”

She’s silent the rest of the way to Parkway Station, her world suddenly flipped on it’s side.

_It’s been two hundred years._

_But it’s him. It has to be him._

_It’s been **two hundred and ten** years._

She and Preston make short work of the triggermen in the vault and every snippet of conversation she hears just causes the roaring in her ears to get louder.

“Should have just killed that damn detective when we had the chance.”

_He’s still alive. He’s still here. He’s real. He’s-_

Preston has to stop her at one point when she takes a corner too quick an nearly gets riddled with bullets. Rookie mistake. She can almost hear him chastising her for it. They clear out the room and Preston grabs her by the shoulder. “Are you doing alright?”

Her voice sounds too excited, too anxious even to her ears, “Fine. We shouldn’t be wasting time talking, we should be finding-”

Preston cuts her off apologetically, “We’ll find Nick, don’t worry. That detective probably has been in worse situations than this.”

She staring at him, trying to comprehend. _He knows Nick-_ every impulse is begging to ask him about him, ask him how they met, how he survived when Boston-

The door they’re standing by slides open and a voice brings her thoughts to a standstill.

“Keep talking, Meathead. It’ll just give Skinny Malone more time to figure out how to off you.”

_Oh god. It’s him. It’s really him._

She knows that voice like the scars on her palms and the freckles across her face. Like looking into a mirror and seeing your reflection and suddenly having a sense of _home_ in your own skin. She knows that gruff voice, from the way it sounds after a glass of whiskey to the hesitant tone when he asked her to dinner the first time. She finds herself sucking in her next breathe, suddenly aware of how long 210 years 5 months and 4 days really is.

The man taunting Nick turns and heads down the stairs and she makes sure one of her shots lands between his eyes.

She takes the stairs in bonds, and and catches the glimpse of a silhouette in the window as she boots up the terminal, her thoughts rushing by too fast to hold onto. Nick’s voice filters out from the room and she finds herself wondering if the barrier between them is whats creating that metallic undertone to his words. “Look, I don’t know who you are but we have about three minutes to get that door open.”

_Give me a second, Valentine._

She can’t help but wonder how _great_ it feels to think that.

She gets the door open and doesn’t hesitate to step into the room, eyes searching for the familiar dark skin-

And everything comes to a halt.

The thing- man- standing in the room is made of metal and plastic. The first thing she notices are the eyes: bright, unblinking, and yellow. _This can’t be Nick-_

The man _(machine?)_ pulls a lighter out of his pocket and leans his head down to light the cigarette held between his teeth, an exact mirror of the man in her memories. It’s not him. But it is him. He has yet to say anything, and she realizes she’s wearing a bandana over her face and a minutemen hat. He can’t even see her face.

Her hands dart up to pull the fabric away from her face.

“I appreciate the irony of the reverse damsel-” Nick’s voice cuts away and his mouth snaps shut as she pulls the bandana away and takes off her hat, a few strands of ginger hair falling in front of her eyes as she does so.

The man- _Nick-_ looks at her like he’s seeing a ghost, and for all intents and purposes, he is.

“Jenny?”

Her response is low and mournful, somewhere between a whisper and a sob, and she watches as the plastic features of his face scrunch up as if she was burning him with her voice alone.

“Hey Valentine.”


	2. Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She starts keeping track of her days, ticking them off in her mind as a solemn way of remembering why she's doing this. She doesn't know how many days its going to take before her life belongs to her again, but she's willing to count them out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love love love the format of this chapter. And the emerging characterization of the character I get to introduce in this chapter. He's growing on me.

**MAY 29, 2077 - OFFICIAL TRANSCRIPT - CONFIDENTIAL**

_[the tape starts with the sound of a man clearing his throat, before the sound of a piece of paper being pushed across the table is heard]_

AGENT N: This is our disclosure agreement. If you sign that, you’re agreeing that [REDACTED SPEAKER] dies this afternoon and the woman who leaves this room is a Mrs. Nora Howard. Mrs. Howard is a stay-at-home wife with a standard law degree from Suffolk County School of Law and has no connection to or knowledge of Eddie Winter, Jenny Lands, Nick Valentine or any other related parties of the investigation.

_[The man pauses and his tone becomes regretful]_

AGENT N: You have the option to not sign this agreement. But if you do so, I am obligated to inform you that we know that there is going to be an attempt of your life or Mr. Valentine’s life in the near future. We, as in the local law enforcement and any involved federal agencies, cannot offer you any protection or preventive measures for this attempt on your lives because of the delicate nature of the investigation that Mr. Valentine is leading.

_[There is the sound of paper crinkling]_

AGENT N: Ma’am are you-?

[REDACTED SPEAKER]: I’m fine. Just. Give me a moment.

_[Silence for roughly 45 seconds]_

[REDACTED SPEAKER]: If I agree to this, how permanent is my ‘death’?

AGENT N:  Only as long as there is a credible threat to your life or Mr. Valentine’s life. My understanding is that Mr. Valentine is close to a breakthrough. His case against Winter that will have that bastard locked up for the rest of his life and dismantle his crime network, if all the current evidence is real. If Valentine is successful and Winter is no longer a threat to your safety, we should be able to revive [REDACTED SPEAKER] pretty quickly.

[REDACTED SPEAKER]: And if I die, so to speak, Nick won’t be a target?

AGENT N: We believe this assassination attempt against your life is a move to discourage Mr. Valentine from continuing his investigation, so he isn’t in any direct danger. Plus, your death would give us a valid excuse to place him under our agency’s protection. He’ll be in safe hands.

[REDACTED SPEAKER]: Is that a promise?

AGENT N: Ma’am, I don’t make promises I can’t keep. Scouts honor.

_[A bitter laugh escapes [REDACTED SPEAKER]’s lips]_

[REDACTED SPEAKER]: Fine. I’ll do it. Goddamn you and your ‘agency’ but I’ll do it.

_[the sound of a rough scratch of a pen across paper is heard, along with the small CLATTER as the pen is tossed back at the other side of the table]_

[REDACTED SPEAKER]: What now?

AGENT N: Well, for all intents and purposes, I’m now Nate Howard, your loving husband. First line of defense in keeping your identity safe and last line in case you’re exposed and in danger.

[REDACTED SPEAKER]: Nate and Nora, huh? Sounds so suburban.

AGENT N: Ma’am, you have no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kudos and comments. You guys make my day!! I'm not perfect so if you see an mistakes feel free to let me know and like always, I'm on tumblr if you happen to like that site.


	3. Codes and Keys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There were three things Nick Valentine knew for certain.
> 
> One, the world was destroyed in fire and just kept turning. Two, he wasn’t actually Nick Valentine. Three, Jenny Lands was dead.
> 
> Yet, the woman standing before him couldn’t be anyone else but Jennifer Loretta Lands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Sorry for the delay, life's been... interesting. Needless to say as an American I've been in a constant panic mode since Nov. 9th and am working on trying to find a balance between putting energy towards making sure things are ok in real life and taking time to write as a method of self-care.

There were three things Nick Valentine knew for certain.

One, the world was destroyed in fire and just kept turning. Two, he wasn’t actually Nick Valentine. Three, Jenny Lands was dead.

Yet, the woman standing before him couldn’t be anyone else but Jennifer Loretta Lands.

 

Nick’s vision flicked and the woman before him is no longer dressed like one of the Commonwealth’s minutemen but is wearing a yellow dress and has her red hair pulled up in a bun, straight out of Nick’s last memories of her. She was going to work, and he had only mumbled a quick goodbye as she had left-

_These aren’t your memories. Those are Nick’s. Focus._

His vision shifts and once again she’s standing before him, apprehensive and only just within reach, he almost expects to be able to pick up the smell of her lavender perfume-

He can see her scanning his features, the same way she used to do when she was evaluating a suspect’s expression, eyes flickering around to the different locations of his face to identify micro expressions.   _Forehead, eyebrows, eyes, corners of the lips, jaw._ Her gaze finds its way back to his and he wonders if she can read synths the same way she used to be able to pick a man’s thoughts apart.

He can’t help but ask, because even if she is a ghost, it’s impossible for her to be here.

“How did you find me?”

He doesn’t quite know what he’s asking with that question, something between _How did you find me at this vault_ and _How are you alive 210 years after he buried you._

“Your secretary told me.” She answers evenly, but the way her eyes dart away from him means she’s just as unwilling to answer. Nick’s left hand shoots out, brushing against the exposed skin of her forearm, the sensors on his hands tingling as she steps just close enough to reach.

_Human skin. Human hair. 96 degrees Fahrenheit._

The ghost was real. The woman in front of him was real. Her eyes were the right shade of green. She had a small freckle below the corner of her left eye and small divot above her right eyebrow. These details were a perfect match to the Jennifer Lands of Nick’s memories but he needed something concrete that this wasn’t just some elaborate trick of fate.

“Jen, I need to know.”

Jennifer- _and god, he already has his mind made up, even if every goddamn logic algorithm and Nick’s own human intuition were screaming about the statistical improbability of this very possibility_ \- glanced over at the man behind her, who Nick recognized as one of the minuteman who had stopped through Diamond City on occasion, for a split second before returning her attention to Nick. Her expression shifted into something regretful, and Nick felt his processors speed up as something akin to dread started cycling through his mind- _please let her be the real-_

“Call it serendipity.”

 

_“Look if we’re going to be working together, ma’am, especially if you are hell-bent on fieldwork, we need to come up with a system.” Nick said, glancing at the red-head in the passenger seat of his car._

_“Define ‘system’, officer.” She responds, and Nick can tell she’s still testing the waters._

_“Well. Not calling me officer would be a start. I’ve got a name, and I’d prefer you use it.” He keeps his tone amicable but he isn’t ignorant to the way she sits up a little straighter, adjusting to the change in formality. Damn straight he’s going to take this woman seriously. The sooner she recognizes that, the better. “Besides that, a system refers to a set of code words or signals so that we can communicate in situations that otherwise call for subtlety. It’s good practice for detective work.”_

_“If you’re concerned that I won’t be able to pick up on your directions-” She starts and Nick is quick to jump in, “Ms. Lands I have no doubts that you could pick up on any subtle gesture I could try. I’m more worried about you needing to have something to communicate with me and not having the vocabulary for it.”_

_Ms. Lands is quiet for a moment before speaking again. “Alright, Mr. Valentine, what kind of code words do we need?”_

_“A good starting place would be, ‘follow my lead, I’ll explain later.’”_

_“Call it Serendipity. We’re both known for being a bit too eloquent, that should work just fine.” Ms. Lands offered after a moment, though her tone implied that she was set on that._

_Nick gave the woman a contemplative look before returning his attention to the road, “Alright. We’ll do it your way.”_

His memory might be patchy. But he remembered that.

And for the second time in the conversation he found himself grappling against answers that did nothing to answer his questions.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we should probably get out of here before they realize you’re not locked up anymore.” Preston comments, stepping into the room from where he was standing at the doorway. He nodded at Jenny and she exhaled sharply, nodding in response. Seems he wasn’t the only one feeling a bit off-kilter.

As much as he hates to admit it, right now isn’t the time for whatever reunion this is shaping out to be. “Right. Let’s get off the mob’s doorstep first, and we’ll continue this discussion later.”

He returned his gaze to Jenny, almost expecting her to have dissipated when he had looked away, and caught her eyes. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

The way she held his gaze made it clear she felt the same way. She only broke his gaze to glance down at one of her holsters as she pulls out a 10mm and offers it silently to him. It feels solid and comforting in his palm, despite the lack of sensors in his left hand. Preston takes the corner and leaves Nick alone with Jenny once again as she produces a few extra clips from one of her pockets.

She hands over the clips and Nick still expects her to vanish into thin air as she moves.

“At least tell me why you’re here.”

Her face contorts again, and Nick watches as her eyes jump from his face to his exposed hand to the hole along his neck. Guess she’s looking for ghosts just as much as he is.

“I need your help finding someone.”

Maybe a trick of fate would have been less cruel, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments help me get through my day so any extra you can throw my way are always appreciated.


	4. Day 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Nate” had handed over her obituary and an article on her funeral on the 7th, sliding it across the table during breakfast that morning with the same casual motion he had made when he had pushed the non-disclosure agreement into her hands on the first day they had met.

She finds him hiding away in the shooting range.

Hiding is the wrong word. He’s not concerned with keeping his presence secret, a steady BANG BANG BANG as he fires off the current clip into a target at the 10 yard line. Without the proper ear protection, the sound of each shot reverberates in her head as she closes in, almost loud enough to drown out the angry pulsing in her ears.

It took her 15 days. Fifteen days of keeping her eyes open and her mouth shut in this unidentifiable cabin somewhere in the middle of the woods for the pieces to all line up.

“Nate” had handed over her obituary and an article on her funeral on the 7th, sliding it across the table during breakfast that morning with the same casual motion he had made when he had pushed the non-disclosure agreement into her hands on the first day they had met.

Her death hadn’t made front page news, she couldn’t help but feel a little relieved about that, but it had made enough of a splash for the article to include pictures of the funeral. She ignored the byline and the baiting title, “FUNERAL FOR FIANCEE OF BPD STAR DETECTIVE-” yelling up at her in block print, focusing instead on the main photo on the spread. Someone had snapped a photo at the end of the service, as most of the attendees had turned away and taken their leave, with a singular figure still standing at the grave, facing the headstone. You couldn’t see his face clearly in the photo, his head bowed and hair covered by a dark hat. You _could_ see the bouquet of sunflowers held limply at his side and the way his fingers curled around the top of the headstone, as if he was reaching out to grab someone’s _(her)_ wrist, not as if he was supporting his weight on a cold slab of granite.

 

He was wearing a black suit.

 

_“A man should save wearing black for a funeral or a wedding. No sense in lending unneeded severity to the world when it’s got enough of that on it own.” Nick had remarked one morning over coffee, while the two of them glanced over a case file and she had asked him why he only ever wore suits in blues and grays. If their hands brushed when he handed over her mug, both acted as if they were none the wiser._

_“Well then, aren’t you lucky you look good in blue, detective.” She has replied, flipping through a few pages._

_She let the words sink in, turning another page nonchalantly before glancing up as she took a sip from her mug. His eyes were on the case book spread before them but she still noticed the warm rosy undertones around his ears and across his cheeks._

 

That wasn’t how she planned on finally seeing him wear it.

 

That first picture had hurt, the second picture, the one she found this morning as it slipped out of a folder, was the one that made her realize. It was a full page photo, taken at the station after business hours. Nick was front and center in the photo, the door to his office wide open as he sat slumped in his chair surrounded by case files. You could see his face clearly in this photo. His onyx eyes were dull, glancing down at the paper held in one hand, his skin was ashy and his eyes looked sunken and dark around the rims, more so than she had ever seen before when he had stayed up late working a case. His navy suit jacket was thrown over the back of his chair and his tie was slightly undone. He had no idea someone was taking this picture. Jen had stared at it for several minutes before it occurred to her to flip the picture over and look for a date. One had been scribbled in on the back left corner: _6/13/77_ in a compact script.

Here was a picture of Nick, looking closer to death than she was, and it had been taken yesterday.

Nick wouldn’t be pushing himself this hard, obviously skipping sleep and probably skipping meals, if he knew she could see- oh. But that was it, wasn’t it? He didn’t know.

Nick Valentine didn’t have a single damn clue.

Dimly, she was aware of the sound of papers flapping through the air and the folder the photo had been hiding in bouncing against the wall.

She got to work tracking Nate down once she stopped seeing red, leaving the folder and it contents spread across the floor where she had thrown it. She held on to the photo.

 

By the time she found Nate at the shooting range, she had cooled off just enough to know that grabbing him by the shoulder and slapping him would be an unwise decision seeing as he was holding a loaded weapon.

Instead she allowed herself to lean into the wall next to his stall roughly, catching the corner of his vision and giving him time to recognize her presence. He frowned at her appearance, the sound of his last shot hanging in the air as he removed the magazine and cleared the chamber of his gun before pushing his headphones back to hear her. “You shouldn’t be down here without earplugs-”

“You didn’t tell him.”

The concern on his face pulls back into something blank and professional as his eyes flicker down momentarily to the photo in her grasp then back up again. “Ah.”

It’s neither and admission or a denial and Jenny is hoping for Nate’s sake that he’s got more to say than that.

He frowns and lets out a small exhale, motioning towards the door with his free hand, “Look. Let’s go upstairs, then we’ll talk.”

 

—

 

She’s sitting at the table in the Safehouse’s kitchen before he enters the room, and just barely gives him time to sit across from her before she’s speaking again.

“Why hasn’t my fiancee been told I’m alive?”

The word fiancee drips down like its venomous, and Nate suppresses a flinch. No better way to cut to the chase than to remind your bodyguard-slash-fake-husband that there’s another man that should be filling that role. He likes Nora, he really does. She’s a nice-enough gal (According to her file) and sharp as a tack but she’s making both their lives harder by being so damn observant.

This was one of those things he hadn’t planned on her finding out.

He considers lying to her and playing the “He’s just one hell of an actor with whats at stake” card but based on what he’s seen of Mr. Valentine and the glare Nora is giving him, he’s pretty sure they both know that the only good actor out of the three is himself.

Partial-truth it is then.

“Because we all need this to be authentic as possible. For your sake, and for his safety.” Nate replies calmly. Nora is doing the “are you lying to me” death glare and Nate still hasn’t really gotten used to the former psychologist’s evaluating looks. He’s read her file. He knows there’s a reason she was snatched up by Parsons State Asylum right out of school with little experience but a lot of potential, and why BPD got their hands on her as soon as they could after that. A woman who could accurately identify and read emotions on faces better than the people experiencing them was one hell of an asset to an asylum, never mind what a walking, talking lie detector meant for BPD.

Nora’s eyes narrow and Nate’s thoughts bounce away for a second as a quiet little _"fuck"_ flits through his mind.

“It’s been a week since the funeral. Two weeks since my death. The newspapers have probably moved on and aren’t focused on a tragic murder of a detectives fiancee anymore. The case isn’t public knowledge so Winter has no reason to keep up the fanfare. He wanted to make his threat, and now he’s made it. The only additional scrutiny Nick should be under is the watchful eye of protection assigned by who ever you work for, _agent_.”

“Never underestimate someone looking to gloat.” Nate offers, though it sounds fake even to his ears. She’s still staring at him, waiting for him to continue. Something about this doesn’t add up all the way and she knows it.

Well. Damn. Full truth it is.

“Look. Do you know how many confessions Valentine managed to grab from low-level crooks even distantly related to Winter in the first three months since this case started?” Nate shoots back, “One. Entry level guy. Lots of blank looks and talk of instructions being passed down from other nameless goons. Want to know how many confessions Valentine has snagged this week alone?”

The silence in the room is its own answer.

“Two. Two confessions. Both of which had names and places and explicit details that the BPD didn’t have before.” Nate continued, ignoring the look of absolute loathing the woman across from him is sending his way. “Yeah, we haven’t be absolutely honest with Detective Valentine, and part of that is safety but part of it is that right now, contrary to whatever Winter thought would happen, Nick Valentine is doing his job so damn well we might not even need the rest of his department to close this investigation.”

It’s not the answer she wants but it is the honest answer, and Nate hopes she can respect that at least. She doesn’t speak again and after a few minutes of silence he finds himself getting up from his spot at the table with no further ceremony.

Her voices catches him at the doorway.

“He’s going to burn out. Or rush head first into something stupid and get himself killed.”

Her voice is mournful, honest and resigned in a way he never hears when she’s talking to him face to face.

“You should give your man a little more credit than that, Lands.” He remarks, letting the pretenses of her situation slip away for a second. “I told you going into this that he’s in safe hands. I meant it.”

He hopes she can read the sincerity in his voice as easily as she would be able to see it on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Expect the next chapter ina little while, and like usual, come hang out with me on [Tumblr](http://anosrepasi.tumblr.com/)


End file.
